The Tomb of Horrors

by Keith Francis Strohm - (ebook by Flandrel; Undead)

  Blinking the last of the pulsing circles from his vision, Kaerion peered at the wall once again—and was surprised to find that the full-length painting of the jackal-headed human had disappeared, replaced by the uneven expanse of a rocky tunnel. He could see that, like the tunnel that lead from the gargoyle room to this one, the passage before them rapidly shrank down to a crawlway.

  Kaerion made sure his shield was securely fastened to his back and then called for a torch. “Gerwyth and I will head down the passage first,” he said to the group. “We’ll call back if it looks safe.” He nodded once to the elf and then entered the passageway.

  The walls here were rough and unadorned. In the light of his torch, he could see tiny rivulets of water running down the sides. We must be underneath the swamp, he thought, and wondered how long the tomb’s ancient stonework had kept out the press of mud and water above their heads. Kaerion’s morbid speculation was interrupted as both he and the ranger were brought up short by a blank wall.

  “Dead end,” he said unnecessarily and let out a sharp curse. “We’ll have to go back and tell the others.”

  “Not so fast, Kaer. Look here,” Gerwyth said, pointing to the left side of the wall.

  Kaerion peered into the flickering corner of the wall and saw the faint outlines of a door, cleverly hidden in the stone. He’d forgotten how much he counted on the rangers sharp elven eyes.

  “Should be easy to open,” Gerwyth said. “Just press here and—” the ranger’s words cut off as the floor space he was kneeling on cracked and tilted forward wildly, spilling the elf through the now-opened door.

  “Ger!” Kaerion shouted as his friend’s lithe form disappeared. Crawling carefully to the edge of the unstable section of the floor, Kaerion peered through the door, relieved to see the normally graceful elf pulling himself slowly up from the floor where he had been dumped in an unceremonious heap.

  “I’m all right,” the ranger said as he adjusted the straps of his pack. The elf gave a slow whistle a few moments later. “I think you should bring the others, Kaer. They’re going to want to see this.”

  Kaerion nodded. “I’ll be right back, Ger. Be safe.”

  “I’m not planning on going anywhere,” the ranger said, a crooked smile forming on his face. “Now use that human penchant for haste and gather the others, you orc-brained lummox.”

  By the time Kaerion informed the others of their discovery and the entire group had navigated the trapped door, the ranger had set torches into several empty iron sconces that dotted the walls of this room. It wasn’t the sconces’ ancient craftsmanship, however, that currently captured the attention of everyone in the large chamber. Kaerion made his way through the press of bodies that gathered in the center of the room. In the now-bright light, he could see three large chests, one made of gold, another of silver, and the third of sturdy oak bound with thick iron bands. Majandra had already declared the area around the chests free from traps, and several guards had tried to lift them—but to no avail. Each of the chests was inexplicably bound to the floor.

  Kaerion watched as the half-elf walked over to the gold chest, intent on bypassing its ancient lock. A premonitory warning, or perhaps it was merely a surge of overprotectedness, sent a frisson of warning up his spine. Quickly, he motioned for two of the guards to flank Majandra as she bent her skills toward opening the chest. He also placed himself in front of Adrys, who, he was unhappy to note, had moved to a position far too close to the only objects of interest in this room.

  “A few moments more,” the half-elf said as she manipulated two small metal tools inside the chest’s metal lock. True to her word, a few moments later, Kaerion heard the lock click.

  Majandra gave the assembled group a wink. “See,” she said as she deftly placed the tools back into a hidden fold of her cloak. “Nothing to it. Now all we have to do is lift the lid, and we’ll see what this chest has been hiding from—”

  The rest of the bard’s words were cut off by the piercing shriek she let out as the top of the chest flew open, disgorging a tumble of black, serpentine shapes.

  “Asps!” Vaxor shouted above the din of angry hissing coming from the released snakes.

  Kaerion watched in horror as the writhing mass of scales and fangs struck out at Majandra and the two flanking guards. In desperation, one of the guards drew forth his sword and stabbed in to the attacking asps, while the other fell to the floor holding his hand, which already looked black and swollen with venom.

  As Kaerion rushed forward, bringing his shield from its resting place and drawing his own blade, he could see that Gerwyth had already drawn his bow. It was clear to Kaerion that the elf’s firing line was hampered by the press of bodies that stumbled away from the mass of snakes.

  “Kaerion,” he heard Phathas shout, “clear Majandra and the others away! I can deal with the asps myself.”

  The mage’s words were all the impetus he needed. Concern for the guards and, more importantly, his fear for Majandra, had already drawn him close to the battle. Sheathing his sword, Kaerion leapt toward the half-elf, who was quickly stumbling back from the snapping fangs of the asps. He slammed his shield into the press of snakes just as his forward momentum knocked Majandra away from danger. Rolling quickly to his feet, Kaerion was forced to bring his shield up again and again to parry the enraged asps as their mouths darted in at amazing speeds, seeking the soft flesh of his arm or shoulder. One snake, untangling itself from the others, had managed to crawl underneath Kaerion’s guard. He felt a slight pressure against his abdomen as the asp’s fangs met the coiled steel rings of his mail. Realizing he had become as much of an obstacle as Majandra had to whatever Phathas had planned, Kaerion kicked at the snake with his boot, and then shouldered the unwounded guard out of the way.

  As he collapsed in a heap on top of the beleaguered soldier, Kaerion saw Phathas step forward and spread both his hands, joining them at his thumbs. The mage shouted another eldritch phrase, and a sheet of crackling flames erupted from his outstretched hands, engulfing the asps. Their angry hissing grew even louder as the barrage of flame continued, until Kaerion couldn’t distinguish between the asps’ sounds and the sizzle of burning flesh. When Phathas finally withdrew his hands, only a pile of ash remained where the snakes had been.

  Kaerion rolled off of the guard and helped the winded man to his feet. He was relieved to note that Landra and a few of her charges had pulled the wounded guard out of the battle and carried him over to Vaxor. The cleric now knelt by the stricken man’s side and laid a hand upon the swollen length of his arm. A blue glow suffused the priest’s hand, and wherever it touched, the black puffy flesh returned to a more natural size and hue. In a few moments, the wounded guard was completely healed. Though he was happy for the man, Kaerion felt uncomfortable at the reminder of Heironeous’ power.

  “The polite thing to do before you knock a lady over is to warn her first,” Majandra’s smooth voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “My apologies, lady,” he said in his most chivalric tones. “I will endeavor to warn her ladyship whenever the need arises again to knock her on her petticoats.”

  Kaerion felt his mood lighten as the bard smiled, her eyes twinkling with laughter and something else—something far deeper and sweeter than amusement. Unbidden, something that Gerwyth had tried to tell him in all the years they had traveled together flashed through his mind. Though he had suffered through his own imperfection and weakness, there were still things for which life was worth living. He would never have guessed that one of those things would be an enchantingly beautiful daughter of a Nyrondese noble house.

  The satisfaction of his newfound revelation lasted only a few moments, for as soon as the expedition fully regrouped after the asp attack, the bard returned to the gold chest. She examined it carefully, tapping its inner walls, and then shook her head. “Nothing inside here at all,” she informed the assembled group, “except some old asp scales.”

  Kaerion could hear the disappointment in the c
ollective sigh that went through the group. Still, he knew that the setbacks they experienced so far would not deter the Nyrondese from their goal. They had planned and sacrificed so much for this journey. He could see in the set of every shoulder—including Majandra’s—that giving up was not an option. He had to admire that kind of conviction.

  Although somewhere along the way he had come to view these nobles as his companions and not merely his employers, he still felt that, for the most part, their expedition was foolish. He had risked his life at first because of the promised money, and then simply because that was what one did for companions—even if at that time he felt like a complete outsider, in danger of his secret guilt becoming exposed. Kaerion knew now that, with the probable exception of the Heironean priest, whose faith and commitment to the ideals of his god would not allow him such weakness, the rest of the nobles had accepted him into their company as an equal, a valued companion, despite who he was.

  Kaerion now stood at the brink of believing in their goal—the resurrection of an entire kingdom—not simply because of his growing love (yes, he had to admit it for what it was) for Majandra, but because there simply was too much evil and destruction in the world to allow Nyrond, a once bright and powerful nation, to die without a fight.

  The click of another lock brought Kaerion back to his present situation. Majandra had moved on to the silver chest, apparently disposing of its lock as easily as she did the first one. He was relieved to see, however, that the half-elf moved quickly away from the unlocked chest. She relieved a long wooden pole from one of the guards. Carefully, she extended the pole toward the silver chest, and with a deft move of her wrists, she lifted its hinged top open with the awkward instrument.

  Nothing happened.

  Slowly, the half-elf walked toward the open chest, and with her came several guards, including Landra, their swords drawn. “Nothing here but a crystal box,” one of the guards said, sheathing her weapon and reaching into the chest.

  “No!” Majandra shouted and flung herself at the guard, but it was too late. As the soldier withdrew the crystal box from the chest, Kaerion heard the soft snick of a releasing catch. Small darts shot out of the chest, buzzing in all directions. Kaerion heard several cries of pain from the group standing before the chest. He raised his own shield just in time—

  And nearly dropped it as he watched a sharp-tipped dart cut easily through the air toward Adrys’ unprotected neck. To his amazement, the boy stepped forward and brought his left hand up and at an angle before his face, striking the wooden shaft of the flying needle and knocking it aside.

  “Adrys, how did you do that?” he asked, running to the boy’s side.

  “Do what, sir?” Adrys asked with a bewildered look on his face.

  Kaerion stared at the boy for a moment, confusion stealing over his own features. Perhaps the nearness of danger caused him to see something that wasn’t there. Surely the untrained son of a merchant would be unable to deflect a dart with his hands. There were few seasoned warriors he knew who could do such a thing, unless…

  Unbidden, flashes of a pockmarked man in a blood-red robe, hands weaving deadly arcs in a shadowed alley, appeared in Kaerion’s mind, but they were quickly replaced by concern as he heard Majandra shout his name.

  Running toward the sound of her voice, the events of the last few moments forgotten in his haste to reach the half-elf, Kaerion never saw the look of cruel satisfaction that passed over Adrys’ face.

  Majandra held the ring up to the torchlight. A clear jewel set delicately along the ring’s onyx band caught the light, reflecting sparkles like brilliant pixies along the plain stone walls of the room. She concentrated briefly and hummed a single low note. With her now magically enhanced senses, she could see the telltale nimbus of power surrounding the ring—it gleamed golden, albeit weakly. The years of Phathas’ lecturing came back to her in a flash, and she quickly identified the type of spellcraft. It was protective magic, imbued into the ring with consummate skill.

  The half-elf was still holding the ring up to the light when Kaerion appeared amid the press of bodies surrounding the opened chest. “Majandra, what’s wrong?” he asked, casting careful glances at the surrounding area with what the bard identified as his professional soldier look. She would never have thought that she’d find such a cold glance appealing, but Majandra had to admit that Kaerion’s concern for her was quite comforting.

  “Nothing is wrong, Kaer,” she replied. “I just wanted you to see what I’d found inside the chest. It’s quite exquisite, really.” She held the ring so that he could have a closer look.

  Relaxing, Kaerion peered at the piece of jewelry she held within her hand and whistled appreciatively. “I’m no gem crafter, but I’d say that the stone is a diamond of uncommon quality.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, “but it’s also magical and will help protect its wearer from harm—” she paused, looking around. “Where’s Adrys? This would be perfect for him.”

  Intrigued by the ring, the others pressed in to have a look. Thus, it took her a few seconds to locate the boy in the midst of the confusion. “Adrys,” she called out to where he sat, lounging idly against a wall and talking softly with Bredeth, “come here.”

  “Majandra,” Kaerion broke in, “I think we should have a talk about Adrys. I’m concerned.”

  “I agree,” she replied, shooing away the last of the curious. “Which is why I think that giving him the ring makes the most sense, given our current circumstances.”

  “Yes, but maybe we should wait until we’ve had a chance to talk with the others before you do this?” he suggested.

  “Nonsense,” Majandra said as she turned to the subject of their conversation, who stood before her with a questioning look upon his face. Though nearly five times his age, the half-elf stood only a hand taller than the boy. She smiled at the lad before holding out her hand, the ring gleaming brilliantly in the center of her palm. “This is for you,” she said, and brought her hand closer when it appeared that the boy would be too shy to take it. “It will help protect you while we’re in the tomb.”

  After a few more moments of steady prodding, the boy took the ring. Slowly, he placed the item on his finger and flexed his hand. At last, a smile beamed on his face. “Thank you,” he said, and Majandra was sure she caught the gleam of a tear in his eye. “My pa was supposed to give me a lifeday gift when we made it back to Pitchfield, only…” he paused, “only we never got there.”

  Majandra ran an affectionate hand through the lad’s hair. What had happened to the boy was tragic, and she cursed the ill luck that stranded him here—crawling through the dusty corridors of an evil wizard’s tomb.

  The bard gave Adrys’ shoulder a squeeze before she let him go back to where he had sat quietly, out of the way of danger. She watched him go for just a moment before turning back to Kaerion. The fighter wore a frown upon his face.

  “What is your problem with Adrys?” she asked, unable to fathom his sudden concern. Hadn’t he been one of the few people who had argued for allowing the boy to accompany them into the tomb? “Can’t you see he has been through enough without having you looming about him with a dark cloud of disapproval?”

  “It’s not that, Majandra,” Kaerion replied. “Really it isn’t.”

  “Then what is it? Tell me.” She was frustrated and let the emotion bleed into her voice.

  Kaerion opened his mouth to reply, but his answer was cut off as someone nearby cleared his throat quite loudly.

  “We must not dally here any longer, Majandra. There is still another chest to be opened, and we must continue on our way.”

  She recognized Vaxor’s low voice. Despite its commanding words, the bard could hear worry and concern coloring the cleric’s deep timbre. She spun to face him.

  “The chill of this dank place is taking its toll on Phathas,” the priest said, pointing a rough-skinned finger at the mage, who huddled against his staff in the corner of the room, coughing. “I’d like to explor
e some more before we have to rest for the day.”

  Concern for her old teacher filled her—and guilt for forgetting to consider how he might be faring in this accursed place. “Clear away from the last chest,” she said, “and prepare the group to head back up the crawlway.”

  She didn’t wait to see if anyone followed her orders, but moved quickly to the chest and, running practiced hands across its length, checked for any traps.

  Satisfied that the chest itself was trap free, she withdrew the picks she used for sensitive locks and began to coax the steel catch that held the chest closed. By the time the half-elf had counted to one hundred, the lock gave a soft click and fell open. Not taking the time to bask in her success, she retrieved the long pole that she had used to flip open the previous chest. Standing against the far wall beneath the crawlway that had led to this treasure room, she carefully lifted up the lid of the chest.

  A bright flash of red light almost blinded her, but before she could throw up her arms to protect her eyes, the floor of the room rocked wildly—and then just as suddenly stopped.

  That was when she heard the first scream.

  Before her, standing amid the crushed remains of the wooden chest, loomed a horrifying creature devoid of skin. Nearly twice the size of Kaerion, the skeletal monster held two large scimitars, one in each bony hand. The beast’s eyeless sockets regarded her with uncanny perception, tracking her every move. She could see that one of the skeleton’s scimitars was already stained with blood, and her own blood ran so cold at the sight that she feared it might stop altogether. Below the beast’s arm, Kaerion’s sword waved unsteadily, as he desperately tried to recover from the force of the monster’s initial attack.